


jouissance

by bestliars



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Minnesota Wild, Rough Sex, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 15:51:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5748997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestliars/pseuds/bestliars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikke wants something to make losing hurt less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	jouissance

**Author's Note:**

> fuck the Dallas Stars. fuck Norm Green.
> 
> thx to the beautiful Stellarer for looking at this.
> 
> specific warnings in the end notes.

They lose to Dallas. It isn’t not his fault. There was a turnover in the third that turned into a short handed goal. He feels bad about that. 

He feels very bad, as much as he feels anything. Blowing a three-nothing lead to lose in overtime has mostly left him numb. That happened. It actually happened. They lost that game, after scoring first, after going up 2-0, after Pommer scored his first goal of the season. Mikke was so fucking happy for him; at last a goal had gone in, after twenty-two games of nothing. Then the Stars scored three times in the third, and everything fell apart.

They don’t get yelled at.

It’s very quiet in the locker room. Sometimes it’s like that. It’s shock.

He showers. Washes his hair. Tries to leave it all behind. Tries to stop feeling like shit. It mostly doesn’t work.

He’s ready to leave before Nino, which hardly ever happens, but he really wants to get away from here. He sits, and waits, and tries not to fidget, combing his fingers through his hair. Van pauses on his way out to put his hand on Mikke’s shoulder, and say, “I know you can be better,” which only makes Mikke feel worse. Awesome.

By the time Nino finds him he has given up on staring at the wall, has closed his eyes, and is just about ready to give up on this life, and fly off to an island somewhere that the only ice is in the drinks, and no one will be disappointed in him. Or, at least no one will be disappointed in him because of hockey.

He doesn’t startle when someone rests a cold hand on the back of his neck, knowing that it must be Nino. He opens his eyes and looks up. Sure enough, that’s all it is, his wonderful boy-thing, here to take him home. Thank god.

Sharing an apartment this year has been more good than bad. It’s certainly better than spending almost every night together but having their things spread across two places. It has been convenient. If pressed, Mikke would admit he’s enjoyed it, very much. It’s only in a mood like this, after a night like the one they just had, that he regrets giving up his own space. No one deserves to put up with him right now.

It’s quite as they drive across the river. There isn’t much to say after a loss like that; certainly nothing to say that isn’t unkind. They’re quiet all the way upstairs. Sometimes getting home will make the ache of a lost game lessen, but not tonight. It’s still stinging sharp.

He strips down to his boxers, and sits on the end of their bed to take his socks off before flopping backwards, leaving his feet on the ground. He stares at the ceiling. It’s very blank. Nothing to see. He feels like the ceiling: very blank. Except that it’s _up_ and he’s down.

“What do you want to do now?” Mikke asks. He doesn’t want to sleep. He would only think horrible things if he tried to sleep right now. He could take something to knock himself out, but they have tomorrow off, and he doesn’t like doing that if he doesn’t have to.

“I don’t know,” Nino says. He sounds tired. Mikke can imagine his expression, knows Nino’s face without looking, scruffy this late in the day, with a mustache Mikke won’t admit to liking.

“Want to fuck?” Mikke asks. Not the most original idea, but a sound one.

“I’m sort of pissed off at you,” Nino says.

“That sounds alright.”

Nino sighs. 

Mikke sits up to see that Nino has stripped down to his boxers and half unbuttoned his dress shirt. He’s still wearing his terrible socks, grey with a tacky mustache pattern. “Come on. It’s not like you have a better idea.”

Nino frowns, and undoes the buttons on his wrists. He shrugs out of his shirt and lets it fall on the floor. Messy. Mikke doesn’t care.

“Just come here already,” Mikke says. “Distract me.”

Nino walks forward, to stand between Mikke’s legs at the end of the bed.

“Tell me if it isn’t what you want,” Nino says.

Mikke rolls his eyes — like he wouldn’t talk back. He’s too much of a brat for that, contrary for the sake of being contrary often enough. 

Still, Nino is holding off, waiting for some sort of confirmation. 

“I’m sure I won’t keep my opinions to myself.”

Nino continues to stare at him skeptically, which is bullshit. Mikke isn’t some sort of pushover. “I promise, I’ll let you know. Just do something already.”

Nino kisses him, hard, with teeth. Mikke goes with it, allows it to take him over, bring his arms around Nino’s waist and trying to hold on. Wherever this takes them, he wants it. Nino tangles his hands in Mikke’s hair to move his head to one side, biting down Mikke’s neck, hopefully not hard enough to leave a mark, but frankly at this point Mikke doesn’t care. He likes the way Nino’s teeth sting against his skin, he needs it, a pain that’s crisp and good and purely physical.

Nino urges him up the bed. In the transition they both kick their boxers off. They move together so Mikke is flat on his back, Nino above him, kissing him. Mikke strains to reach Nino’s mouth, to taste him and have his lips bitten.

He doesn’t struggle when Nino pushes to turn him over, so he’s on his stomach, with his shoulders pressed into the bed. Nino kisses and bites the back of Mikke’s neck, ruts against him. Mikke fails to find some sort of leverage, trying to make it better for himself. He starts to grind his dick against the sheets, looking for any sort of friction, before Nino takes that option away from him, yanking up his hips until he gets his knees underneath him.

Rough sex isn’t anything new for them, but tonight there’s a hint of actual nastiness, like maybe Nino’s thinks he deserves to be pushed and punished, instead of it just being that he knows Mikke enjoys it.

Mikke doesn’t know if that’s better. He suspects he shouldn’t enjoy it as much as he does, that he shouldn’t get off on the idea that Nino doesn’t care if he wants it like this. There’s something else to feel bad about, shame that’s easy to live with, unlike the game they just lost.

Nino doesn’t let him up as he reaches to the nightstand for the lube. He keeps one hand pressed flat against Mikke’s back, resting his weight there, keeping Mikke’s shoulders down on the mattress.

It’s better with lube, Nino’s dick slick, slipping between his ass cheeks, between his thighs, not fucking him yet, but god, Mikke wants that. He wants to get fucked open, to have Nino inside him, to get used that way. He wants it, but won’t say anything. He wants it, but he won’t beg. He can’t. He’ll wait, be patient for whatever Nino wants from him, for whatever Nino takes.

At least that’s the plan.

Of course he’s horrible at all of that: at patience, at biting back neediness. He hates this about himself, but it’s true.

Nino is far too content to take it slow, when Mikke feels like he has been desperate for ages, since the Stars tied the game at least.

This is not what Mikke wants — not everything.

He can wait. He could stay quiet. He could let whatever happens happen, trusting Nino’s itinerary. He wishes he could do that.

He can’t last like this, on the edge of nearly enough, at least not peacefully. He has to open his mouth, has to be bossy, can’t seem to stop himself. He shouldn’t need to ask for more; what Nino gives him should be enough.

He shouldn’t try to order Nino around, and yet, here they are, here he is saying, “Pull my hair,” trying to make it sound like a command, not like desperation.

“Maybe I don’t want to,” Nino says. How terribly cruel of him.

There’s something here that Mikke enjoys — Nino isn’t listening to him. Nino isn’t doing what he wants. Nino sounds mean. Mikke knows how Nino can be mean, knows how he can shove, and the sort of things he says on the ice. Normally he isn’t at all like that with Mikke — normally he is so sweet, but not right now. Mikke loves it. He is desperate for it, almost shaking with how much he wants Nino to be mean to him, how much he wishes Nino would fuck him.

And then Nino is mean in a way that Mikke doesn’t want at all — he slows down. He kisses the back of Mikke’s neck slowly, much too sweet. Mikke can’t help himself from arching into it. He needs this — he needs anything. He needs Nino to fuck him, and harder, more than this. 

Nino doesn’t seem interested in that at all. He kisses behind Nino’s ear, brushing Mikke’s hair out of the way very carefully. It feels wonderful, Mikke is floating with it, but this is much too nice. Mikke doesn’t want gentleness, doesn’t deserve it, can’t stand it.

It’s a relief when Nino tugs at his hair until his head goes to the side, making his neck stretch at an uncomfortable angle, but they can kiss like this, and Nino is kissing perfectly, holding Mikke’s face in his hands and biting his lips. He’s hardly moving his hips at all, just shifting as they kiss, and it is still not nearly enough, but Mikke will take it.

He wants Nino to take him apart, to be used however Nino wants to use him. At least he isn’t fucking this up. At least he’s good at this.

He doesn’t like it when Nino backs away, but he tries to hold in the whine trying to escape his throat at the lack of contact, knowing it can only be temporary. Nino needs this just as much as he does, too much to pull away for real.

He’s just shifting his weight off Mikke to make it easier to move him around. Nino steers Mikke until he’s flat on his back. He takes Mikke’s hands and places them flat on the mattress about his head.

“Stay like this,” Nino says.

Of course. Mikke wants to be good.

He can’t say that. “Fuck you.” He lifts his hands off the bed and uses them to pull Nino into a kiss, biting his lip.

Nino bites back, even harder, even more perfectly.

Then he pulls away, presses Mikke’s chest back to the mattress, takes each of Mikke’s hands in his own, kissing the wrists before putting them back where they were. “Stay.”

Mikke rolls his eyes, but he’ll do it. He’s put up the necessary fight, now Nino can have whatever he wants, Mikke will let him take it.

Nino doesn’t seem interested in taking anything — he seems intent on giving pleasure. He moves down Mikke’s body, settling between his legs. He takes Mikke’s cock in his mouth, first just lapping at the tip before daring to take more. He’s being very careful, very gentle, very sweet. He’s holding onto Mikke’s hips with one hand, the other roaming up to the sensitive skin of Mikke’s ribs and chest. It’s too much.

Mikke can’t stand it. It feels wonderful. He has to bite his lip, afraid that he’ll bite right through, afraid of the taste of blood in his mouth, afraid that he’ll let go and say something he won’t be able to take back. 

It’s too much, too good. He can’t stay quiet forever. Even this is something he fails at. He gives up, lets himself moan and pant, knowing that Nino won’t think he’s weak, but still feeling defeated.

He can’t stay still, doesn’t have the discipline to leave his hands where Nino put them. He has to reach down to touch Nino’s beautiful face, cradle Nino’s jaw in his palm. Nino smiles at him, so sweet. Loving.

Fuck. This isn’t fair at all. Mikke didn’t want to be treated like a treasure. Didn’t want to be loved,

He closes his eyes, but that doesn’t help. Giving up sight only amplifies his other senses, to the point that he is almost drowning in pleasure. The way Nino looks at him is still there in his mind’s eye.

It hurts so much. This isn’t even the most painful thing that’s happened to Mikke tonight. The truth of the matter is this is a good thing, if he lets it be; if he doesn’t get too scared; if it doesn’t kill him.

He can’t pretend he doesn’t care any longer. All of the lies he was trying to believe to feel strong aren’t working any more, not in the face of how kind and how gentle and how loving and how fucking unfair Nino has been to him. He can’t take this sort of betrayal lying down. He has to take action.

He tugs Nino up, so that they can kiss again. He can taste himself in Nino’s mouth, which is hot, and unreal. All he can do is kiss Nino desperately. He’s good at this, he can tell from how Nino kisses back, and from the noises he makes. This might be the only thing in the whole world that Mikke is actually good at, but that’s alright. This is the only thing he needs. He can remake his life so it is only this, only kissing Nino, only their hands on each other, no hockey games to lose, no crowds to disappoint, just this. This could be enough. Or at least it is enough for now, big enough to block out the whole world of bad thoughts, which is all Mikke needs.

They’re kissing, and Nino’s hands are in his hair, and his hands are on Nino’s hips, pressing their naked skin closer together. Mikke wants to be so close that they start to dissolve into each other. 

They have to move apart to get their hands between them, and it isn’t nice to have their sticky skin seperate, but it’s better that he can touch Nino’s cock, and Nino can touch him. That’s the last piece of the puzzle to get them where they need to go.

Orgasm is shattering. Mikke is broken apart, the whole world exploded. Nino is with him through it, the only solid thing — Nino’s hands on him, Nino’s mouth, Nino’s breathing, Nino’s heartbeat. Everything else is destroyed. They are only their bodies. Everything else is gone and broken.

This is the best way for it to play out. After being made fragile by that loss it is better that they destroy each other with pleasure instead of letting the pressure of defeat cave them in.

This is not what Mikke wanted from tonight. This is not what he wanted to be the best thing to happen to him today. He wanted to win the fucking hockey game. But having failed in that regard, this is much nicer than he expected, better than he deserves.

He starts to get his breath back. The world starts to solidify around them. He’s resting on Nino’s chest, Nino’s heartbeat loud and steady in his head. Nino’s fingers are petting his hair, very sweet, very gentle; it doesn’t hurt at all. They have earned this peace.

**Author's Note:**

> warning for under negotiated kink, and a character who’s fully consenting, but kind of seems like he wouldn’t say anything even if he wasn’t. warning for questionable life choices that turn out surprisingly well.
> 
> and the socks: https://twitter.com/Nino_Socks/status/670727097644531712


End file.
